Wednesday, November 19, 2014

A boy, a girl, a heroBorn or forgotten?Cast into a mold orDestined to make-up their Every move and desire,Forgetting themselves and forgettingGod and his companions as theyHold on tight while memories rush inInvading their senses, leaving realityjuxtaposed with the faces of whom theykilled, but for what, they are no longer sure. Call it war, call it justifiablemurder, call it what you may, but in thenight when gunshots are the one andonly thing that wakes you andpain is all that reminds you you’re alive - evenquicksand appears to be a better end thanricocheting bullets that leave nothing butscars behind as you slowly begin to losetrack of who you are as you cling to theup-sides of life. You spend your timeveering to find yourself as you impatientlywait for that moment when thex-ray comes back saying that“You are who you are not” not a zealot or a soldier but….

Monday, November 17, 2014

Interviewing my Mother (Draft 3)
It is easy to get caught-up in lifeEasy to look up at the sky
and forget to count the starsInstead letting them rotate around you
Making their mark in the skyWhile you head inside because it's too cold

It is easy to forget the little things in lifeLike asking how someone's day was
and genuinely caring about the answerit's easy to take what you have for granted
I didn't want to do that anymoreSo I started asking questions
"What was my mom like before?"
My Uncle John, he would look down and smilethinking of better times when
He's be over with my Aunt KacieRiding around on our quads in the backyard
my mom on hers and he on my step-dadsOur frontyard was large enough
We had fifteen acres of farmlandHis sister's dream come true
They'd stay out late by the bonfireListening to the knickering of horses
The baying of the goatsThe fluttering of the chickens
All my mother's childrenAnd his nieces and nephews

Asking my aunt what her favorite memory wasWas asking a lot
How could she pick one?When they were all so great?
"There was that one timewhen your Aunt Chrissy was having her bridal shower
it was boring and filled with kidsso we ditched it and went out bar-hopping instead.
Your mother was a fierce soul. She packed fury behind her punch.She was a mother cub in every sense of the word
One wrong word about you or anyone in the familyand someone earned themselves two black eyes
but she would do anything for anyoneeven if she cared not for them
stereotypical to say, but it was true. I went with herquite a few times. Driving two plus hours
to help rescue animals from a shelter. Your mother was an animal-loveralways filling the house with new furry friends.
Crying whenever she went inside the shelterseeing how badly treated the animals were.
If she had had the room, you would have had a whole zoostaying at your place. It breaks my heart knowing
she'll never have a chance to fight your Aunt Chrissyfor a chance to watch your cousin Jace."

What was it like dying?
As the cancer seared through your body
Did you still find time to smile?
As your lungs became the battle ground
Between healthy and mutated cells
Did life still have meaning?

Your aunt came over that day
Shaving my head, removing my crown
After all, it was time for wigs

Oh, but I had a smile on my face
when you got off the bus that day
My new crown of glory resting on my head

An unexpected surprised that
wasn’t unexpected, after all

There were five of you, three of blood, two of love,
my beacons of life
You were only newly ripped from the womb,
But in so little time,
you learned the lesson of death
One that I taught you

But my life had meaning, how could it not?
I had all I wanted in life.
After all, I had you.
It just wasn’t enough to live for

Dying wasn’t so bad, once you got past the grief
My body, it ached. Walking became difficult
How could I fight it any longer? My brain turned to mush
Fleeting memories of better times,
And my body…oh how heavy it felt
Even after losing my breast
I still felt heavy, as if my bones turned to stone

But we had fun, despite the war
Raging inside of me. Your grandmother,
She would stand beside me, inappropriately grabbing my breast
The one that was no longer there
But we all laughed. It was funny, it was naughty
And if we couldn’t poke fun at my situation
I’d be dying in a different way

For two years I fought, and then I was cleared
I wasn’t dying anymore.
The cells were gone and it was time to recover
Time to move on

I made jokes, talking about how my new breasts
Would be bigger than yours
But it wasn’t in my cards. Not for me
And not for you
My cancer came back
Or it never did leave
This time though, it perforated my lungs
My liver, my brain

I would have been on chemo for life
And radiation for sure
A red, shell of a person is what I would have been
But I didn’t have it in me, not anymore
The battle became too fierce
I withered away before your eyes
A rose fighting for life in the warmth of Summer
While their insides turned to ice

I wish I could say I had a glorious end
One filled with trumpets and singers
A real menagerie, but it wasn’t
It was in the living room
Surrounded by my family, but confined to my bed
Where I found out what it truly was like
To finally be dying
It was where you found out

He’d go right along, as if he didn’t notice the stench protruding from his gums

“We twas on er tway to dem islands. With the coconuts and dem pretty black niggas.

We twanted a batch of em dis time. Big money.”

His usual annoying whistle as his eyes glazed over, his mind on the money who would have once had

“But nature had its own ideers. She twas noter happy with us. No sir’ee. Dem twaves camer crashing down on us. Mighty angry twey twere. Dis tway and dat tway. Puppets we twere. Puppets on a mighty fine string. I twas on da ship one minute and der next, I twas in the water.”

He’d always give a dramatic shake here, as if he could still feel the water’s cold embrace.

“I dought I twas a goner for sure. I says, I says to God “Not now God. I is a good man. I ain’t done nuttin’ twrong. I says my prayers and meh Marys and I go to church and I do as der Bible tells me. It cant be my time.” And God up der, he twas a listenin’. He is always a listenin’ and he heard meh prayers.”

Here, he’d pause and cross himself, his wrinkled neck protruding upwards as if he could see his beloved deity looking down at him.

“A big fish came and I kid yer not. She twas’ a large girl. But phew, twas I happy to see er’. Sleek fins, grey body, black beady eyes like the devil’s own, but I saw no evil in er’. I climbed onto er’ back and down we twent. Oh! How gorgeous da sea twas. All pink, an’ green an’ sand an’ blue. Da fish and I, we dove in and under the sea. The twaves crashing over and on us. Oh but I felt no pain. no sir’ee. it twas’ an adventure. A grand adventure.”The old man would lean back in his rocking chair then, a crooked smile on his weather-worn face. The fish was always the favorite part of the story for him. He made sure to emphasis it. Made sure everyone knew God had sent the fish to him. Made sure they knew he had been chosen to live.

“Dat fish, dat bootiful, bootiful fish done took me right to dat nigga island. Dropped me off right der on da sand and twaved goodbye to me I twaved back, giddy as could be, but den I done thought to myself and I says to myself “Dat is a might fine fish der.” I done says. “Twould’ be a might shame to see er go to waste.” So I ate er all up.”

He let out a giddy laugh, slapping his knee as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard in the whole entire world.

“I twas cold den. And den out of notwhere comes dis damn nigga. Twit dem dum, dull eyes and dat dark, sinnin’ skin. Sea comes and sea looks at me. I look at er’ and we jus sat der, starin’ at eachtwother until sea offers me dis blanket. Now dis blanket stank to da high heavens. And it twas not very goodly made, but I twas cold and very grateful. I lifted my head up and I thanked God for dis nigga and dis blanket. I dun started to peel of mah clothes ya see, to dry em off. Meh boots were full of dat sea water. So full, I twas almost swimming in them!”

He’d cackle once again, this time slapping someone else’s knees. There would always be an awkward laugh in agreement here, though nobody ever found the story as funny as he did.

Occasionally a cough would puncture his story around this point. he’d wave his hands wildly as his body wracked with the poison filling his lungs. Somebody would take pity on his poor soul and bring him a cup of water, which he’d promptly spit up. Like the sea water that was permanently trapped in his lungs.

“But dey dont know no better dem niggas. I see dem washin’ in der sea, but it done help dem. Dey hav thiser smell to dem. It’s in der blood. but anyways da niggas dey dun fed me an’ gab me sum clothes an’ a bed, if yer could call it dat, to sleep on. And oh boy, did I sleep. I slept me a good long sleep. An’ in der morning dey helped me look for meh ship. But twas nuthin’ left of her.”

A moment of silence as he bowed his head, crossing his chest once more.

“I dun think dey knew we dun gone down. It was’ a long time I was on dat island. I twas almost afraid I twould be stuck der wit dem dum niggas and der big eyes. Muh skin done got darker an’ I twas afraid the devil done got his hands on me an’ twas turni’ me into one of dem, but no sir’ee. God twas not havin’ dat. He sent one of his ship to us and I twas rescued. Da men twere surprised to see meh and I had to prove that i twas white, but dey knew I twas. By how well-spoken I twas’. Anytway we dun herded dem niggas up and boarded da ship. Dey cried and dey moaned, lookin’ at me wit der dum eyes, but I couldnt help em. Twas God’s tway.”

As if that excused any of it.

“Twhen I arrived back at meh home, my wife twas sure glad to see me. Da first thing she dun says to me twas dat “You dun smell like a nig” and dat twas it. She dun kiss my cheek and we twere happy. We had six more kids and here I am today. Tellin’ da story of how a fish saved meh. “

He’d lean back in his chair once again, having his fill of storytelling this time. Sometimes his monologue was longer and more fierce, other times it was shorter. Focusing in on the fish that ‘saved’ him. He always swore up and down that he saw that fish, telling what he perceived to be the same story over and over again, but it was always wrong.